


A Ghost Of A Chance

by GeekTriangle



Series: Supernatural AU (1/2 complete) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, They're both assholes, WinterHawk Bingo, Winterhawkbing square: Ghost OC, enemies to crushes to denial, hunter!Clint, hunter!bucky, which i took a bit of liberty on <3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekTriangle/pseuds/GeekTriangle
Summary: ‘Give me that.’ He said, already reaching for the tools Clint had discarded next to him.‘What. Why.’James huffed, and if they had been friends he might have thought it in amusement.‘Because I didn’t think you reach the first three stitches, let alone the first eight. And now when it is becoming really difficult, you’re acting like a friend of mine, who is also too stubborn to ask for help. So I’m just going to help you.‘Clint narrowed his eyes.‘I’m-’‘Not stubborn? Trust me pal, I know the lines.'
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Supernatural AU (1/2 complete) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725199
Kudos: 13
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	A Ghost Of A Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! <3]
> 
> Have I died? No! Whoo!  
> Have I gone eerily absent? Yes! As a medical student, life got in the way <3  
> Will I return? Of course! It might just take a few moments more, but I'm here to put this here before the deadline of the WinterhawkBingo, because that stuff is amazing and I lament the fact I haven't wrote more for it. Luckily I get to keep the card, so I will be working on it even after the deadline has passed!
> 
> Special thanks to Hawkie and Nora, who are amazing and should be freaking celebrated. Thank you so much for organising this!
> 
> Now, here is chapter 1 of 2 (or 3, because chapter 2 is already twice as long as chapter 1 lol) , which will be posted sometime later as this is still in works.
> 
> I love you, and appreciated you, and I hope to
> 
> Warning: written by a dyslexic shit who is way to stubborn and is shoving this into the world because deadline <3

The treeline was reduced to a something of a blur, for a second brightly illuminated by his headlights and then disappearing behind him. Speeding over the tarmac through the woods he could feel the real power hidden in the red dodge challenger. His escapade with Cherrry had done him little good, left him beat up, nearly dead even, and his heart a little bruised. But the car? The car had made everything almost worth it. Even if ‘Tasha kept calling it obnoxious and ‘too flashy’ for their job. The speaker system was great too, currently it was blasting some kind of rock song and Clint was singing, near shouting, right along as the bass shook vibrated through his bones.

And at the moment it was just Clint in his car in a place called bumfuck nowhere where time and trouble didn’t exist and instead were replaced by the roaring of speakers and his engine.

So Clint didn't’ know how long his cell had been ringing before he noticed.

'Ah shit-' he cursed and grabbed the thing from where it was sticking out of the bag on his shotgun seat. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, meaning he didn’t check the flashing screen for who was actually calling him. Which may or not may be his first mistake.

‘ ‘ello?’ He wedged the phone between his shoulder and his ear and lowered the volume of the music as he was talking. 

‘Hey _Clint_ ,’ and Nat’s voice was as sweet as honey and Clint internally winced. Most of the people Nat used that tone on were dead in a week. ‘How’s the road trip?’

‘Uhh, I wouldn't call it a road trip.’ He swallowed. ‘More like, a visit to some neighbouring town.’

‘Oh really? Well, my road trip is going fine, thanks for asking. I mean, it _was_ going fine. But then I got a ping that that car you love so much was moving away from the safehouse, the safehouse where _you_ were supposed to recover.’

Somewhere along the line Natasha lost the sweetness which was replaced by something a hell of a lot sharper.

‘I healed?’ He asked, wincing at her tone

‘Last time checked a week is not enough time to recover from a stab wound.’

'It was barely a wound ‘Tash, It was a graze!’

'An _infected_ graze, idiot.’  
‘And besides.’ Cint continued, ignoring her last comment. ‘Driving around never hurt anybody.’

She scoffed.  
‘Driving around no, but the shit you usually get up too when you’re skipping town? That definitely gets you hurt.'

His headlights illuminated a street sign. A two hour drive and he’d arrive at Winset, another dot on the American map that most people forgot about. 

'Everybody gets hurt on the job once in a while ‘Tash, doesn’t mean we’re bad at it.'

'That’s not what I mean Clint and you know that, cut the sad-puppy-crap. How did you find a job anyway?'

'Hill, I mean- Maria? The hunter that was teamed up with Fury when we went purging that demon town? She was calling around looking for you and caught one of the burners you left in the shack. I told her you weren’t around but I’d look into it. She thinks that it’s probably some haunting or something, just, random deaths all over town for a few years.’'

'And in that whole phone call you didn’t think to mention the reason I am not with you was that you were supposed to be recovering? and by the way-'

On her side of the phone there was a loud bang and Natasha cursed, another bang rang out and the phone clattered on the ground.

'Nat? Natasha?!'

But then she was back on the line.

'Geez Barton, no need to scream, you’re the one that’s deaf not me.'

'I- you- you’re calling me on a job, alone? And you’re calling me reckless?'

He could feel her eyes rolling through the phone.

'Calm down, worried doesn’t suit you. And besides, I’m not alone, this hunter I know, Rogers, he needed back-up for a job, quick.'

'Yeah, I noticed. You pumped me full off painkillers and ran off without even a goodbye.'

'Don’t be a wuzz, I wrote you a note.'

'Yeah, stuck to a can of soup saying “back in two weeks, don’t do anything stupid.”'

'And apparently even that was too difficult.'

'Come on, Nat, It’s a haunting. I am great at hauntings.'

'You-' another bang sounded on her end, followed by something that sounded like a shotgun discharging.’Shit- I have to go. Clint, you get yourself killed and I will drag you out of the afterlife myself and make you wish you were in hell instead.'

'Love you too ‘Tash, take ca-’

The line went dead and Clint breathed a sigh of relief. Natasha was great, she was awesome, and she hated it whenever he did jobs alone. She was sure that if she were around that they would’ve already been on the road two days ago, calling him a wuzz if he complained about the tightness of his stitches. However, it wasn’t like he wasn’t good hunting solo. Hell, he was practically raised doing this. A little haunting? That was like, hunter 101. It was gonna be fine.

He turned up the volume of the radio and pushed down on the gass, and even with his fucked hearing he could hear the motor roar.

-o0o-

The town probably once was very pretty. You know, with colorfully painted houses, gardens filled with blooming flowers, trees planted alongside the road, a few cute dinners and shops scattered here and there and all of that was topped with the cherry that was the church in the centre of the town and the few other old buildings dotted around. There even was a gazebo. It would've looked lovely on a postcard. Now? The once colorful paint of the supposed cozy homes are faded, bleached by the sun and flaking away where the it is worn down by the weather. The once lovely gardens looked partly abandoned, all but forgotten but by the weeds which grew in them. Cracks disfigured the streets and sidewalks.

All with all, it had all the signs of a town that was slowly bleeding to death. And Clint? Clint felt right at home. He had grown up on the edge of a town just like this one, the circus had made their bread in towns like this, and hunters even more so. Towns like this always seemed like they’re dying, but in the end the never seemed quite willing to die. He kinda could relate to that. 

He found a motel at the edge of town, the attendant some guy barely out of puberty who was more interested in the comics he was reading than setting Clint up with a room, which he considered something more of a plus than a negative really. Once inside his room the first thing he did was checking for bedbugs, because really it only takes one time making that mistake to learn that particular lesson. He found some kind of suspicious mold growing in the bathroom but it was far away enough from the shower that Clint could live with it. The next thing he did was get his stuff from the car. He placed the welcome mat with the demon trap drawn on it in front of the door and put a salt line on every windowsill. He whistled some toneless tune of some song he had forgotten the name of as he worked. The salt wouldn’t keep every ghost or demon out, because some fuckers could just phase through the wall, but it would keep out most of ‘em and that was enough for Clint.

  
After he got the rest from the car he took a short shower and checked his stitches. He would need to remove them in the next few days, which would suck because of their placement and Nat wasn’t here to help him. Well, at least the flexibility his days as an acrobat gave him would be useful again. He sighed, throwing his towel over the railing and digging in his bags for a shirt and his laptop. Hill had promised to e-mail the research she had already done, and anything she had already found meant less work for him. He didn’t even bother to suppress the groan after he saw the mountain of work she had sent him, it wasn’t like anybody was around to hear him anyway. How in the hell had she managed to set together such a big file, but didn’t have the time to deal with the problem herself?

Instead of reading the shitty local news articles about murder and the town’s history he googled ‘WINSET PIZZA PLACE’. Maybe someplace would be open at 11 AM?

-o0o-

Of course the pizza place hadn’t been open yet, so he had dug up a few protein bars and had then promptly fallen asleep. He woke up a bit disorientated, ate what had been left of his protein bar and begrudgingly started reading Hill’s file. It seemed to be a few murders, only connected by the way that all the victims had been seemingly been beat to death, the last two victims found only three days ago. No perpetrator had been found, as the local police force couldn’t decide between gang violence or a serial killer. The idea that the town found itself big enough to even entertain the thought of something akin to gang violence was kinda funny. Clint continued scanning through the file, but of course Hill hadn’t found any pictures of the victims. Which, well, was kinda good because that meant the local police did their job properly, but it also meant more work for Clint. Looked like he was spending some quality time breaking and entering into the local police station.

-o0o-

What kind of ghost just straight up beats their victims to death? Because that is what had clearly happened, to like, all the victims. Clint was holding the flashlight with his teeth, paging through the files that he had dug up from some forgotten cabinet. Normally ghosts would at least a little creative if they went out making victims. Making them drown on air, or like, spontaneously combust them. Hell, plain up throwing people of a bridge was more interesting that this.

Maybe Hill had been wrong and this weren’t hauntings at all. Maybe some adults had gotten really, really, really bored and had decided to actually start a gang war in this sleepy town. Well it would make his job a hell of a lot more easy if it were just people screwing each other over, but the futher he got in the files he had to admit that some things weren’t adding up. The detectives hadn’t found any signs of forced entry or even traces of another person being present in the room when the victims had bit the dust. Just, bodies with heavy bruising and lacerations, dead because of some blunt force trauma and no sign how they had gotten hurt. It kinda was weird. Clint’s people kinda weird.

Only… normally victims of hauntings were connected in some way, or atleast, connected in more than just living in the same town. These guys? Well, the only thing that connected them was the location, and while the town wasn’t big at all, it was big enough that figuring out what was happening on location alone would be trouble. Clint opened the file of the latest two bodies found. The only case were two people had been present in the room at the time of the attack. Sadly for Clint, they both hadn’t survived the ordeal. It was a young couple, a man and a woman who had gotten married only five days ago. At the time of their death they had been packing for their honeymoon, which was three days ago. It had been the case which had made Hill decide that this case couldn’t wait untill she had the time to handle it herself, because whatever was doing this, it was getting bolder. A feeling of irritation sparked in his chest as he read the rest of the file, the detectives had found _nothing_. And okay, he couldn’t really blame them because these guys didn’t know what to look for but this file seemed even more bare than the last one. Seemed like-

HIs hearing aids caught the noise of a door slamming shut. Whelp, that was clearly the sign that Clint had overstayed his welcome. In a few seconds he stuffed the files back in the cabinet and picked up his backpack with his bow in it. He pulled himself up over the window and litly landed on the dumpster that was sitting behind the police station, throwing his hood over his head as he hurried away. 

Maybe this case would be a little more difficult to solve than he had initially thought. 

-o0o-

The next morning he found himself sitting in one of the breakfast places, making full use of the limitless coffee they served and waiting on his breakfast eggs. Hoping that when they arrived his appetite had returned. Last night, after his stint at the police station he had walked to one the local bars instead of going back to the motel. The ‘ _1878 Standing_ ’ was exactly the kind of bar Clint liked. Meaning that the beer was cheap and that it had a pool table. He’d tried talking to the locals, making up a story about how he was road tripping around the country and waiting for some friends to catch up with him, about the last few murders. 

‘Such a darn shame.’ Some moustached man who introduced him as the owner of the local hunting store. ‘They had a lovely wedding here at the church, Martha’s shop did the pie and all. I reckon it was one of Jack’s client’s. He was a lawyer, eh?’

A woman, black hair and a old faded tattoo snaking up her neck leaned over the table as she gossiped, her acrylic nails digging in the old wooden tables.

‘You know the couple only knew each other for a year? I bet it was one of Sam’s exes, they never seemed the savioury type, so at odds with her. She came from the town over, heard her father is preacher there.’

‘Tsk.’ The barkeep had answered. ‘They probably beat eachother up. Way too chipper when they were out together, it was as fake as me gran’s teeth.’ He grumbled, conveniently forgetting the same kind of murder had happened four times in the last ten year alone.

And so Clint managed to sweet talk gossip from most of the bar goers. They seemed happy enough to talk about something more exciting than the local post thief.

What Clint gathered after coaxing tons of gossip from the bar goers that the victims had been exceedingly average. Just a couple of young folks setting up their home and life for their 2.5 kids and church on sundays. They couldn’t sound more boring even in they tried. Not even a hint at some satanic rituals as date night activity, or desecration of graves on thursday nights. Didn’t mean that they hadn’t been doing those things, just meant that they had been very good at hiding if they did. In the end Clint promised himself that he would visit the couples home tomorrow, and he allowed himself to be coaxed to the pool table by a few bikers. If he wasn’t getting any information out his bar visit, he could at least make a few quick bucks out of it.

And well, let’s just say that while Clint had beaten them in pool, the bikers had beaten him in drinking. He could vaguely remember his stumble back to the motel, proud of himself that he had remembered grab his bow and quiver from where had hidden them under another dumpster, and crashing in bed. When had woken that morning, light stabbing his eyes and head pounding, he had decided that maybe a breakfast would be needed before he started trespassing again.  
So that was how Clint found himself in the diner. Gratefully drinking his coffee and squinting at the mirror that managed to reflect the sun right in his eyes, when somebody took the seat in front of him.

Clint stared at the man who had placed himself in front of him. He slowly blinked. The guy had pulled his hair back out of his face in some kind of greasy bun. He had a stubble on his face that indicated he hadn’t shaved for a few days. The leather jacket he was wearing complimented the ‘I-will-fuck-you-up’ aura the guy was emanating. He was also wearing gloves, like some kind of hitman, with a piercing blue glare to match. All with all, the guy kinda looked like a hobo who was totally capable to kick Clint’s ass.

Clint took a sip of his coffee, squinting over his purple aviators at the guy.

‘Are you here to kill me? Because if so, can that maybe wait until after breakfast?’

The guy's scowl became a bit more frowny.

‘That is what you say to the person you think is coming to kill you?’ 

Clint shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee.

‘Never hurts to ask nicely. So, are you here to kill me?’

This time the guy cocked his head, waiting a second before answering.

‘No.’

‘Oh, cool.’

For another moment they stared at each other. Then the guy frowned slightly.

‘You got enough enemies walking around that you just expect them to one day show up at breakfast wanting to kill you?’.

‘Yeah, you don’t?’

The guy looked like he wanted to protest, but then he seemed to change opinion.

‘I guess.’ he shrugged. ‘Don’t think it’s supposed to be the norm though.’

Clint emptied his coffee.

‘Wouldn’t know it.’ He said, signaling to the waitress for another refill. Then he leaned back, hand brushing over the knife that he had hidden strapped on his side. He kinda was inclined to trust that the guy wasn’t actually here to kill him. Most things that were out for his blood wouldn’t bother starting a conversation and all. But, well, it was nice to know the knife was there. ‘You’re here because of Hill?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ Clint scratched the hair on his head. Then he sighed, wishing the lunchroom had bigger coffee mugs and deciding it was way to early to deal with guessing games.  
‘Look man, I don’t know what you want. But I’m just trying to have breakfast. If you’re in the business like me and I stepped in your territory or something. Well, let’s just say you’re doing a shit job of keeping your turf save. If you’re here to beat me up, well, screw you too’

‘Natalia didn’t say you were a dick.’ The guy interrupted him, throwing Clint of his stride.

‘Wait, Natasha sent you?’

‘Yeah.’ The guy said. ‘One black coffee, please.’ He asked the waitress who had arrived for Clint’s refill. Once the waitress had gone Clint leant over the table, whispering agitated.

‘Well then you can call Natasha right back and tell her I don’t need some goddamn baby sitt-’

‘I’m not doing that.’

‘What you mean- You’re not doing that?’

The guy rolled his eyes, like Clint was being the stupid one.

‘You’re her partner. How successful are you on average telling her she can stuff it? Besides, she called in a favor.’

‘Yeah, well, that sounds like a you problem.’

‘Look.’ The guy grumbled, any signs of amusement disappearing as he matched Clint’s lean over the table, bringing their heads a bit closer together than casual. ‘I just spent two days on my bike, after I spent one whole damn week flushing out a changeling nest that had infested a goddamn kindergarten. I just want a shower and sleep for two days, but instead I had to chase down some idiot hunter who think it is a good idea to suddenly go solo without warning their partner, causing said partner to send _me_ to make sure the idiot doesn’t get killed. So, I propose this. We get the job done asap and then we both go our own way.’

‘Screw you.’ Clint hissed. He slammed a twenty on the table and jumped up. ‘I don’t need any help from some stuck-up hunter who thinks he’s to good for the job.’ He turned away, grumbling under his breath and stamping to the door. He made it halfway out of the dinner when his phone rang. He cursed, fished it out of his pocket and put it against his ear as he reached for the door.

‘Barton.’ He barked into the cell.

‘Play nice.’ Natasha voice answered cooly, and Clint’s hand stopped before it reached the door handle.

‘I don’t need-’ He started, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice.

‘A babysitter. I know. He’s not.’

‘The hell he is then?’ 

‘A friend. My friend, actually. The only hunter I trust close enough to help you out.’

Irritated Clint stepped out of the way as somebody else entered the diner. He turned away from the door.

‘I don’t need help.’

‘I know.’

‘Great. Then you can call him and tell him to get his stupid bike and-’

‘Clint. Please. One job.’

And. Well. Natasha wasn’t the kind of person that said please a lot. He bit the inside of his cheek, cursing her silently in her head for worrying, and trying to ignore the sting he felt at her not completely trusting him. Well, he knew that that probably wasn’t true. But, anxiety was a bitch. 

‘Fine.’ He finally sighed. ‘One job. But damn it, Nat. Why did you sent such an asshole?’

‘You’re an asshole too.’ She answered, all the worry already gone from her voice like it never had been there. And, well, Clint couldn’t really argue that.  
‘His name is James Barnes. Don’t piss him off to much.’ 

‘He started it.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Don’t die.’ she said, and then the line went dead. For a moment he stared at his phone. He kinda wondered what it said about them that she always ended every phone call ordering him to not die. After a second he decided he didn’t want to think about it.

Resigned to his fate he made his way back to the booth were the guy was still sitting. And, damn he really was an asshole. He was eating the eggs Clint had ordered. Rude.

‘So. James.’ The guy didn’t even look up at the mention of his name.

‘Clint.’ The guy- James, said and really, Clint shouldn’t be surprised that Natasha had given the guy Clint’s name

‘Those are my eggs.’

‘Thought you left.’ He said, not at all seeming bothered or surprised that Clint had returned.

‘Well, my _friend_ called in a favor too, so here we are.’

‘I know. Sit.’

Clint clenched his fist and kinda deliberated just punching the guy. But Natasha might just actually kill him then, and he wasn’t quite willing to die yet. So Clint muttered something under his breath and settled back in the chair he had just deserted.

The guy raised his head and finally looked up at Clint, who just scowled at him. James kinda cocked his head again, like he was overthinking something. Then he said: ‘Tell me what you found, and I’ll get you new eggs.’

**Author's Note:**

> I love you, and appreciated you, and I hope to return to you all lovely people sooner than later! Take care <3


End file.
